


Skinned Up Knees and Salty Lips

by grumblesandmumbles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 90's Music, Alternate Universe - 90s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblesandmumbles/pseuds/grumblesandmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chicago, late 90s. Mickey is an aspiring singer and guitarist who stumbles across bassist Ian. After they each see the other one's talent, they decide to start a band together. But soon they start to realize that it's not just musical talent that has them interested in each other. </p><p>Heavily influenced by that musical era. You can find a playlist of some influential music <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qe7m1VzD2Fk&index=1&list=PL1zYTSq9eYQXQxUMam3FDvMWNjDsNSBBE">here</a>. Playlist will probably grow pretty regularly.</p><p>I have actually wanted to do a 90s AU for a long time now, but with the recent passing of Scott Weiland, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. The title of this fic is actually from a Stone Temple Pilots song called "Trippin' On A Hole In A Paper Heart," which is one of my fave songs by them (it's on the playlist).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skinned Up Knees and Salty Lips

_Chicago, late ‘90s_

_I don’t feel the sun’s coming out today, it’s staying in, it’s gonna find another way._

_As I sit here in this misery, I don’t think I’ll ever, no lord, see the sun from here._

_And oh, as I fade away, they’ll all look at me and say, then they’ll say_

_Hey look at him, I’ll never live that way, and that’s okay, they’re just afraid of change._

\----------

Mickey knew if he didn’t want to get his ass kicked, he needed to get out of the house and fast.

He could hear Terry ranting and raving out in the living room, going on about business and money, and Mickey wanted to avoid any scrutiny or conversation. He pulled his Doc Martens on, lacing up the boots as quickly as he could. His cigarette dangled from his lips precariously as he grabbed his guitar and threw the strap over his shoulder. Mickey grabbed his wallet off the dresser, slipping it in the back pocket of his jeans and fastening the chain to his belt loop.

As he got ready, he heard Terry quiet down. Mickey gave it another minute or two before slowly opening his bedroom door and stepping into the hallway. He saw Terry slumped over on the couch, and decided to just take the chance of leaving and hoping Terry stayed asleep. He moved quick but kept his footsteps light, moving through the living room until he reached the front door. One last glance behind him and he was out the door, shutting it slowly behind him until it latched. Mickey hoisted the guitar on his shoulder more securely and went on his way.

\----------

Ian was at the register of the record store; it was slow today and he was bored as shit. Thankfully, his shift was almost over.

He had thought multiple times about leaving the record store. But besides losing a steady paycheck his family could ill afford to lose, there was also the fact that the owner, Linda, let him practice in the store whenever he wanted. As long as he wasn’t on the clock, of course. As she said, she “didn’t pay him to twiddle around on his bass.” But for as much of a hardass as she was, she was a pretty great boss.

Linda was a single mom, raising two boys after her husband had run off with some guy who frequented the store. She had converted to Muslim for her husband, but when he left her, she went back to her more free spirited roots. Her parents had owned the record store, and passed it on her to her. She reminded Ian of a tough as nails hippie. A bit of a paradox, but somehow she managed it, and she gave Ian free reign for the most part, so he didn’t really care what she was doing.

Linda came over to Ian with a milk crate full of records. “Ian, before you’re done, can you put these back in the stacks where they belong? They’re already alphabetized, shouldn’t take long.”

He nodded and took the crate from her, moving through the harrow aisles in the record section of the store and slipping the strays where they belonged. Ian ran his fingers along the stacks as he moved through them. Sometimes he daydreamed about owning all of his favorite records one day when he was older and could afford a luxury hobby. Linda gave him an employee discount, and occasionally he would treat himself, but it wasn’t something he could really keep up with. Buying his bass guitar had been enough of a splurge, even though he’d bought it secondhand.

Ian’s fingers itched as he thought about it; he couldn’t wait to get off shift and practice for a bit before he went home. It was about the only privacy he had. What he really wanted was to join a band, have practices, do shows. He had put up some fliers, including one in the window of the store, but he hadn’t had any bites. He finished putting the records back and made his way back to where Linda was sitting at the register. She gave him a nod and he came around and grabbed his bass guitar from behind her.

At the back of the store, before the storage area, there was a small lounge area and a small studio room. Linda had invested in some recording equipment and instruments, and would rent the space to local bands to make an extra buck so they could make their demo CDs. This was where she would let Ian practice. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He took the bass out of its case and made sure it was tuned, strumming the strings and adjusting them before he looked at the bass tabs he had left on the music stand. He was getting really good though; he barely ever glanced at them anymore. Ian closed his eyes and started to play.

\----------

Mickey pushed open the door to the store, the bell tinkling above his head. The owner looked up from her perch at the register, eyes narrowing when she realized who he was. He was used to it; the Milkoviches were pretty infamous around Chicago, and he was sure that someone in his family had a run-in with her at some point, though he hadn’t. He made sure to make eye contact and give her a nod as he passed by, moving into the nearest aisle and scanning over the CDs. Mickey hadn’t come to the music store for anything in particular, but it was as good a place as any to get out of the house. He thought maybe he could pick up a new music book and head over to the abandoned buildings he hung around, so he could practice with some privacy. But when he heard the sound, he forgot all about his tentative plan.

The sound was bass; he knew that right away. The player was good, if a bit hesitant. Mickey followed the noise and wound up in the back of the store. He saw there was a guy in a room with the door closed, and he was the source of the noise as he played a bass guitar. Mickey hadn’t realized they had a studio back here. He made a note of it. He watched the guy play for awhile, back to the window. When he finally stopped and turned enough for Mickey to see his face, he realized he knew the kid. He walked over to the window and knocked. The guy looked up and motioned Mickey to come inside.

Mickey opened the door and said, “Gallagher, right? You live over on North Wallace.”

Ian watched him hesitantly. “Yea. Mickey?”

He nodded. “You’re pretty good, but you need to bear down harder. Really put the oomph into it. Can I show you?”

Ian shrugged but handed over the bass. Mickey took his guitar off his back and placed it down, reaching for Ian’s bass and moving it into place.

“This is what you’re doing,” Mickey said as he strummed a melody. “This is what you need to be doing.” He pressed more firmly on the chords and Ian could hear the difference in power.

He reached out and took the bass back, testing out Mickey’s suggestion. The difference was immediate. He moved through the song he had been playing and was pleased at how good it sounded.

Mickey reached for his guitar. “Mind if I jam with you?”

Ian shook his head and waved him on. Mickey threw his strap back over his shoulder and listened to the song Ian was working on. He recognized it and quickly joined in. They played together pretty seamlessly, not speaking but occasionally giving each other a nod or a smile as they worked through some of the harder runs.

They jammed for around a half hour or so before Ian finally looked at the wall clock. “Shit, I gotta run. That was a good jam.”

Mickey nodded. “For sure. I’m looking to start a band. Maybe we can jam again, see how it goes?”

Ian couldn’t believe his luck. “I’ve actually been trying to get something together for a while, that’d be great. I work tomorrow until 6, if you can swing by after we can play for a bit. We need a singer and a drummer for a full band though.”

Mickey bit his lip, looking a bit shy, which was an odd expression Ian never thought he’d see on a Milkovich. “I actually sing. We can try it out, just to see. And I have an idea for a drummer, I’ll see if they’re free tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Ian agreed.

Mickey put his guitar back in his case and left, throwing Ian a wave as he went. Ian walked home to have dinner with his siblings. They chattered up a storm as usual, but Ian didn’t speak much. He didn’t particularly listen either. Instead, he spent the entire meal and the rest of the night thinking about the impromptu jam session. Never in a million years did he imagine he’d wind up possibly starting a band with Mickey fuckin’ Milkovich.

\----------

Mickey ran into his potential drummer on his way back home. “Hey, you still looking for someone to jam with? Ran into Ian Gallagher today, plays a pretty mean bass, he’s looking to start up a band. Gonna meet him tomorrow at his job to practice. Interested?”

Mandy looked at him from under her bangs. “Maybe. Did they have a drum kit there? Not hauling mine outta the basement just for a practice.” When he nodded, she nodded too. “Fine, I’ll come along, see what we’re working with.”

“He’s pretty good,” Mickey assured. “Think there could be some real potential.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr Page](http://grumblesandmumbles.tumblr.com).


End file.
